Johnlock Advent Calendar: 2015
by Watermelonsmellinfellon
Summary: John and Sherlock play John's Advent Game. If they are on their best behavior, Sherlock will get to reveal a new photograph of John, every day. As each day passes, more clothing disappears and if Sherlock makes it to Christmas while managing to be a good boy, he'll get John in any way he wants, as per the rules of the game. A/N:FLUFF!CUTE!SEXY TIMES!MALE SLASH!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **1 December 2015, Tuesday:**

Sherlock had found it stashed under John's mattress - _a ridiculously easy place when searching for incriminating objects, do please gain an imagination, John_ \- and immediately retrieved it, bringing it downstairs with him.

It was the length of the bed, made of soft fabric - cashmere - and was shaped like a large, green fir with twenty-five flaps in the shape of presents decorating it. On each flap was a number from one to twenty-five.

"Sherlock, what were yo- oh my God, _no_!"

Sherlock darted left, barely dodging John's hands that attempted to grab the tree from his hands. He backed away from the stalking doctor, wondering what was so important about it.

"You can't, Sherlock!"

"Why are you hiding an advent calendar under your bed, John?"

"Sherlock!"

"I'll find out either way!" threatened the detective, already searching for the number one.

"Don't!"

Too late, Sherlock opened the small door and promptly lost all coherent thought.

It was a photograph. Like most advent calendars had, but this was different. It wasn't some anthropomorphized reindeer with a mutated, red nose. It was a person of the male persuasion. This person was none other than John Hamish Watson. And John, well… he was certainly a spectacle.

John was standing at parade rest, in a simple sleeveless shirt. His muscles were pronounced and a light amount of hair, golden in color, peaked out over the top of the low neckline. John's tags rested around his neck, drawing attention to his well formed pectorals.

Sherlock could feel a stirring of arousal. He'd seen John in only his pants, fresh from the shower, but he'd never seen this. John was smirking at the camera, like he knew something the viewer didn't. And it made Sherlock want to lean in and see if he could learn this secret of John's.

A groan of dismay drew his attention from the photograph. He looked up, seeing John holding his head in his hands. "You just _had_ to look at it, didn't you? You couldn't leave well enough alone."

"John, what is this for?"

Said doctor sighed again. "It's a game."

Sherlock stared down at the inviting look on photo John's face and wondered how it was possibly a game. It seemed more of a temptation than anything else.

"It was something some friends and I thought up and began taking various photographs of me and putting them to the days. If I'm dating someone at the time, they get to reveal a little more of me every day until finally, nothing more can be revealed and then they get their gift. It's an anticipation technique and a bit of sexual torment all at once, because there is no sex until they make it to the end. But the relationship has to stay on track, filled with romancing and sweetness and there can't be _any_ fights."

Sherlock looked between his doctor and the photo doctor and asked, "And the gift is?"

"Me, however they want."

Sherlock was struck suddenly. "I am playing this game, John."

John sputtered, face flushing instantly, "But we're not even-"

"That matters not. I am playing."

Sherlock moved over to the mantle and grabbed the hammer resting there. All he needed was a nail and then he'd hang it on his door.

Barely paying attention to John's mortified speech about propriety, Sherlock went about his task, internally reveling in the fact that when he won, he'd get more than just a glimpse at John, but the whole package.

A nice reward.

John was always so reserved that it'd be nice to see him without any barriers.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **2 December 2015, Wednesday:**

Sherlock had waited very patiently for this hour to come. He was sat on his bed, staring at his door. An hour. He'd been there for an hour, simply waiting for the clock to hit six so he could open the next present. The number two was situated on the opposite end of the tree, making the viewer have to actively search it out.

Sherlock wanted to the see the next photo, but knew he'd have to wait patiently. He could do it. It was like awaiting the effects of an experiment. Some time and then a pleasant outcome, for him at least.

The digital clock beside his bed beeped. He'd set the time to ring when it was okay to look.

He pushed the button and stood, calmly making his way over to the decorative tree that simply hung there, like a minor taunt in his face.

He grasped the small handle on the velvet gift and pulled it up.

It was John, as expected. He was clothed much like the former photo, except this one he was sweating, the obvious stains on his clothing. His shirt was torn in several places, revealing little amounts of skin to the viewer. He wasn't covered in blood or anything terrible, but Sherlock couldn't help but want to see what he'd look like while covered in someone else's blood.

His enemies slain.

It was a very primal mental image he was creating and he liked it very much. John without any worries about society's feelings. John just being himself and not thinking about who could possibly be seeing him while he's so improper.

While Sherlock liked the idea of John embracing himself to the fullest, he only wanted John to act in such a way when in the comfort of their flat. No one else should have the privilege of seeing John so open. Not his boring, dotty girlfriends, or the Yard workers, of even Mycroft and his CCTV control.

Sherlock was the only one who fully understood John so he should be the only one enjoying such a scene.

Sherlock left the room, feeling much better now that his curiosity had been partially sated. There was still twenty-three days to go however.

John refused to look at him. Not when he walked in, not when he grabbed John's laptop in a very open gesture, and certainly not when Sherlock decided to sit in his chair - directly across from John - and conduct his business there. John was still as a statue, though not as cold. He was simply embarrassed and Sherlock had no inclination as to why.

John was pleasing to look at and he was more muscular than his jumpers let on. The doctor was attractive so there was no need for him to be so emotional over the whole situation.

John folded the paper and stood. "Tea?" he offered.

Ah yes, because when things were going wrong, John fortified himself with tea.

"Please?"

Why not be nice and butter him up a little before the inevitable conversation that was weighing so heavily on John's conscience?

The man went about the offered task and only when both had taken a sip of tea, did he speak.

"So… you've seemed to find an interest in my Advent Calendar."

"Obviously."

"And you seem very intent on finishing the game up till the end."

"Yes."

John cleared his throat… twice.

"And would you… be interested in the prize if you win?"

Sherlock looked up from the laptop, allowing his John to see the smirk on his face. "Very much so, John."

The doctor straightened in his chair. "Well then… you'd better work for it, remember the stipulations."

Yes. He had to romance John and not start any fights during the game. He could do that.

Sherlock gave one sharp nod.

John stood, collecting the tea, "Well then, I look forward to your suit."

He sauntered away, leaving Sherlock feeling like he'd just walked into some kind of death trap. But then again, death was his forte.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **3 December 2015, Thursday:**

Early that morning, Sherlock received a text from Lestrade about a case. It didn't sound boring with the lack of details given, so Sherlock dragged John out into the chill of December London, barely allowing the man to put on his scarf before they were flagging down a cab. John was bunched on the seat, shivering slightly. The cold of the weather had gotten him.

John was the kind who favored heat, so Winter was not his favorite season. Afghanistan had changed his biology.

Sherlock, remembering the stipulations of the game, slipped his right glove off and pressed the back of his hand against John's cold cheek. The effect was instant. John shivered, but leaned into the warmth, sighing lightly.

If he was to romance John, he'd have to start with small gestures and allow them to grow in size over time.

He already had John's interest, they already lived together, John thought about him on a near constant basis - if what his girlfriends ever said was true - and John tended to rely on Sherlock. It was only a matter of turning friendship to romance and the line between both was very fine, almost invisible.

The ride to the Yard was spent with Sherlock warming John. John rarely allowed such breaches in his personal space, but Sherlock felt that his reaction to the weather was what was making him so compliant. If the weather was like this every day, Sherlock wouldn't mind.

Lestrade was staring at them when they walked in. Of course this _had_ to be one of those rare moments where he was observant, right?

John wasn't looking at Sherlock, Lestrade was looking between them, and Sherlock simply stood there as if nothing was wrong.

"Three bodies found strangled," said Lestrade, looking annoyed.

John squared his shoulders, getting into the swing of things now that attention had been drawn away from him.

Sherlock was kind enough to let it pass and save John the embarrassment... for now.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **4 December 2015, Friday:**

Sherlock and John did not make it back to Baker Street until the wee hours of the next morning. John was barely making it around with the post case high and Sherlock was trying to think of what he could do to butter John up to him.

He decided to make John some tea. When things went wrong, John always went for tea to calm down and feel better. And Sherlock never made the tea so it would be like a gift.

He presented the cup to the blond after coming from the shower and John smiled warmly at him, taking it and sipping every few seconds.

They spent several minutes just milling about, letting the adrenaline from the case wear off. John was typing his blog at exactly two and a half times the speed he usually typed at and Sherlock was playing his violin. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Within minutes, the sound of John editing what he typed, filled the room. Then he pressed ENTER and closed everything down. He bade Sherlock a good morning, taking his cup into the kitchen on his way to bed.

Sherlock waited a moment, before flipping John's laptop up and turning it on. The password took seven tries this time - _impressive John, you're learning_ \- and ended up being 'WSherlockSHolmes'. He had to stop and think on where John could have possibly learned his full name from.

When no answers were forthcoming he proceeded to his task, saving the thought for later.

 **THE BLOG OF JOHN H. WATSON.**

 **3 DEC,**

 _I know it's a day late, sorry. I don't have a name for this case, I'm sorry for that. It isn't something I can put into words and I'd rather not give anyone the imagery of what I have seen._

 _In Sherlock's line of work, we end up seeing a great many disturbing things. This was one of them. Though it was also the first time necrophilia was added to the equation. As such, I will not be going into detail over what exactly happened._

 _Instead, I will focus on Sherlock._

 _He has changed in the time I've known him. Going on two years now, I believe. The day I met him, he had actually questioned why a woman would think of her stillborn child of fourteen years prior, in her dying moments. Yet today, he had perfectly put emotional analysis into practice and understood the motives of the killer easily._

 _I distinctly remember a time when Sherlock scoffed at the thought of friendship and sentiment. His brother even once told him that 'caring is not an advantage'. Though Sherlock rarely listens to his brother's advice, and only when it benefits him, or he's experiencing those rare moments of acknowledging the fact that said brother knows more about the situation than he does. But as I said, those moments are rare._

 _Sherlock has changed in other ways too. He even made me tea and it was very well made. I think he deliberately doesn't do certain things so that when he actually deigns to do them, the meaning behind them is special and important._

 _Occasionally, he takes out the rubbish and I know it's him because Mrs. Hudson can't carry that much weight down the stairs. He cleans off a part of the kitchen table for me to eat at. He even stopped bringing severed heads into the flat when I am around. Only brings them in on the days I'm visiting Harry._

 _I was really able witness the leaps and bounds Sherlock has come through today and I can proudly say that I'm glad he's my friend and that I have the privilege of seeing these moments of growth in his life._

 _If only others could see what I see._

 _Yours faithfully,_

 _John H. Watson._

Sherlock stared for a good moment, overcome with slight emotion. John really knew how to tug on the heartstrings, even when his grammar was terrible.

He also did talk about Sherlock a lot.

Probably more than he realized.

It made Sherlock feel… warm. Someone paid enough positive attention to him to notice these things.

His phone vibrated and he pulled it out, seeing that it was six in the morning.

Time to see the next two photos.

Shutting down the laptop and placing it back on the table beside John's chosen chair, Sherlock made his way to his room in a completely not hurried fashion.

Closing himself inside, he searched for the number 3 because he had missed his opportunity the former day as he and John had set off so early for the case. Once found, he tugged on the small, red ribbon that kept the two sides of the small gift, closed.

It was the John from the last photo except this time, his trousers were also ripped in many places. From what Sherlock could tell, John wasn't wearing pants beneath them, leaving tanned skin to peek through the holes.

Tanned.

John's hipbones and thighs were tanned.

Either John had sunbathed while completely nude, or he had a speedo.

Either thought was tempting and Sherlock peered much more closely.

He wondered if the next photograph would show John's behind.

He found the number 4 and pulled the little top off, coming face to arse with John's tanned backside. The seat of his trousers just so happened to be totally shredded, revealing what lay beneath. The skin there as dark as the rest of his skin.

Sherlock was already salivating.

* * *

By the time John awoke to grace the living world with his presence, he found Sherlock in the kitchen, working on a new experiment, though this one had nothing to do with fungus or body parts. It was simple Chemistry on action and reactions.

Sherlock watched him over the lens of his microscope, wondering what his first action would be. Realize that Sherlock went out and purchased him some Thai for lunch, because he had slept all through breakfast, or drink the tea already set for him?

John noticed both and smiled at Sherlock, thanking him softly as he went to check his blog.

"Sherlock, the counter seems to have fixed itself!"

"Hm?"

"The blog has gone up to 5,923 since I went to bed."

That… was a lot of people.

"5,926 now."

A lot of people.

"And there are sixty-seven comments so far and only one of each from Mrs. Hudson, Harry, Mike, and Greg."

Greg?

"That's Lestrade," said John.

Oh.

Did he say that out loud?

"I just know the way you think."

Oh.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

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 **See ya! :D**

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	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **5 December 2015, Saturday:**

Sherlock was in the middle of an experiment but he was itching to see the next photo on the calendar. However, this was time sensitive and he couldn't just walk away or let himself be distracted by John's body. He'd have to wait patiently for his chance.

He'd been in the kitchen for four hours already, sitting in the same place and it was torture! When John had called it sexual torment, he wasn't joking in the slightest. Sherlock's curiosity was peaked and yet the mold had to be observed under specific temperatures and he couldn't just walk away!

When John walked in, covered in a fuzzy dressing gown and wearing thick, woolen pajamas, Sherlock had almost groaned. He held himself together though, not wanting John to know that he was suffering.

Of course the doctor couldn't make his life any easier could he? John worked around him, grabbing things from the table and scooting around Sherlock's stiff form, brushing up against him slightly and making Sherlock shiver.

After the fifth time, Sherlock's head snapped to John, who was leaning against the fridge, smirking over his cup of tea.

"Have a good morning, Sherlock?" he asked in an oh so 'innocent' voice.

"Just fine, thank you."

Sherlock promptly returned to his experiment, trying to ignore the chuckles coming from John.

He could do this!

Sherlock absolutely refused to admit that he ran to his bedroom once the experiment was finished. He only locked himself in the bathroom because hygiene was _very_ important.

And he most certainly would never admit to the fact that his mind wandered to the tanned flesh of John's exposed front. All of it on display without any clothing to hide him from view.

John was circumcised and it was glorious! For a man on the smaller side of average, he was - as the teens said - very well hung. It was impressive. Another thing that caught his eye was the fact that John kept his pubic hair neatly trimmed. Sherlock had never known anyone who did that, but he was grateful. It made it easier to see John's cock. The cock that was also tanned.

So yes, Sherlock simply had to take great care in washing that morning. For hygienic purposes of course.

Nothing special to talk about and John's giggling was not appreciated in the slightest.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

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 **See ya! :D**

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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **6 December 2015, Sunday:**

John got off early on Sundays so Sherlock decided that he would pick him up from work and take him to a late lunch. Rarely did Sherlock instigate food requirements so it would be a nice shock for John.

The blond was just walking out of the clinic when his cornflower blue eyes landed on Sherlock and immediately _danced_. Sherlock would never get over the fact that John absolutely loved to see him and how excited he got when he saw Sherlock for the first time every day.

Since John had left before six, he hadn't seen Sherlock that morning and it was like every time they saw each other, life was suddenly fine again. Even when John was being a tease and testing Sherlock's self control to the maximum.

"Is there another case?"

Sherlock liberated John's bag from his hands and handed over his scarf for John to wear. Sometimes it was nice to just walk somewhere and it wasn't like it was too far. John's face tended to get cold so Sherlock was simply keeping him warm and happy.

"Not at all. I finished another experiment and I decided that we should have lunch."

John looked pleasantly surprised. "And you'll eat, right?"

"Yes."

"Good."

All through lunch, John regaled Sherlock with the story of the man and his undescended left testicle. Some would think it an inappropriate conversation at a lunch table, but Sherlock thought it was great! The two giggled all the way home.

And of course, Sherlock went straight for the calendar, opening the small, green present eagerly.

John was nude again, his abs and pecs on perfect display. His chest was bare of hair, but there was a small dusting of fine hair starting a little above his pelvis. As formerly noted, the hair was trimmed nicely and very tame. But Sherlock's view of John's assets was cut off by strategic posing.

John wasn't overly muscular thankfully. Just the right size and shape.

The photograph was taken before John had been shot, his shoulder blissfully free of any scars. There was a tattoo of the RAMC logo on his left side, directly under where his tricep was.

In John's hands were two large dumbbells and he was in the middle of lifting them, his arms curled about halfway toward his shoulders, making his muscles strain within his skin.

Sherlock looked away for a moment, trying to work up some saliva because his mouth had gone dry at the taunting sight of his John. Seeing John fully nude the day before and then to see his body twisted in such a way that all the bits that Sherlock wanted were hidden, was torture. John was a master of it apparently.

With one more peek at the photo, Sherlock went back to the drawing room, where John was smiling up at him from his chair.

Sherlock sat primly, grabbing his unfinished book and crossing his legs to hide his erection.

There was no need for John to be so bloody proud of himself.

Well… except for his cock. He could be proud of that. Sherlock certainly was.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

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	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **7 December 2015, Monday:**

John had a bad day at the clinic. Sherlock could tell the moment he stomped into the flat. However, John did not say a word as he plopped down in his chair and turned on his laptop. He simply went to whatever he was doing and left it at that.

Figuring that he was much too wound up to do it himself, Sherlock decided to fetch John some tea.

He simply set the cup down on the table and went back to his own laptop, allowing John to blow off steam in the best way he could damage.

An hour later, John got up and stretched. He was significantly more calm and he had drunk all of his tea.

Sherlock was shocked into stiffness when John padded on over and nuzzled his cheek fondly, leaving the consulting detective gaping.

* * *

Mycroft paid them a visit, bearing a file with Sherlock's name on it. More like, it was for Sherlock. It was a case. Another one.

Sherlock hadn't wanted to take it, but John was already there, beating him to it by grabbing the file from Mycroft's hands and flipping through it. He hummed a few times, scoffed once, and even laughed.

"Please tell me you aren't being serious with this?" he finally asked.

Mycroft sniffed, "It is entirely serious I assure you."

"But the answer is so obvious."

"Pardon?!"

John sighed, "This is what happens when you have no life outside of politics. It's in the name. The answer to what you're looking for is right in the name."

He passed the file back to Mycroft, who stared for a moment, before nodding stiffly and making a call.

"Thank you Dr. Watson. Sherlock."

Mycroft was gone almost as quickly as he came and Sherlock simply sat there, wondering what had happened and why he wasn't a part of it.

John simply smiled and told him not to worry about it. Besides, didn't he have a calendar to look at?

Indeed he did, though he wasn't about to let earlier actions go. He saved the information for later, when he could actually dedicate time to think about it.

In a completely calm fashion, Sherlock departed to his bedroom where the day's golden gift, was waiting for him to unveil its contents. He licked his lips once and pulled the ribbon, letting the flaps fall open to reveal John, nude once more, but from behind. He was bent over a rock and the firm muscles in his arse were on full display. A perfectly convenient ray of sunlight illuminating the twin globes of perfection.

Whoever convinced John that he should allow himself to be photographed while in such a state, deserved every possible award on the planet.

Sherlock spent the next half hour in the bathroom, ignoring John's giggling.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **8 December 2015, Tuesday:**

When Sherlock had walked into the flat that afternoon - having gone out to help Lestrade with a case that had barely managed to be a **Level 4** \- he was stopped in the doorway by John, who was grinning up at him, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Hello, Sherlock."

John then leaned up and for the first time since the game began, he initiated a romantic gesture by placing a kiss directly on Sherlock's cupid's bow lips.

The blond then glanced upward, where Sherlock could see a sprig of mistletoe hanging above the doorway of the flat.

"I got it earlier today at Tesco's and I thought we should have it. A new tradition for us to start."

John hadn't gotten mistletoe the last two Christmases they had shared together, so Sherlock hadn't even considered this as something to add. But not only was it a nice surprise as it was difficult to surprise Sherlock, but it also gave way to other thoughts. He really needed to progress in his wooing of John Watson!

They needed a tree and decorations and he really needed to get John the perfect gift. And… he gulped… they'd go to the Yard's Christmas do. And yes, Sherlock would actually tag along this time because John would be disappointed if he didn't go. And Sherlock could probably introduce John to his parents when he dragged the blond out to Cornwall for the Christmas festivities held every year.

Much planning to do.

Sherlock deposited their dinner on the kitchen table, which he had cleaned off earlier that day. He'd gotten them some curry.

As John passed him to get the plates, he received another kiss, which momentarily had him staring off into space. John was certainly affectionate today.

Sherlock liked it.

As they ate, Sherlock's mind went back to that morning, where he'd taken a good, long look at that day's photograph and had masturbated right then and there, soiling his pajama bottoms in the process.

It was John on the boulder again, his tanned body spread out like an offering. Paying homage in the best form Sherlock could ever possibly imagine, even with his mind palace.

John was on his back, the sunlight carefully lighting the area between his legs. His body was cut finely, all well-muscled and hardened. His right leg was pulled up, foot flat against the rock beneath him and the other leg was cast aside, leaving him open to greedy eyes.

His cock stood at perfection attention, not needing John to keep it upright. Nothing of John's head was visible. As he lay supine over the boulder, facing the camera, the viewer would only see his torso and all that resided below it. Not that Sherlock was complaining.

Yes, the image - which had been saved to a special room in his mind palace like all the others had been - was flashing before him now, allowing him to juxtapose that John and the one before him. The same man, except army John was all strong and dominant looking. An alpha. A leader. But the John sitting across from him was all warm and cuddly. A healer. He had a little bit of a belly now, not that it changed his physique all that much. He smiled warmly and just didn't seem like the type to hurt a fly.

And the fact that Sherlock knew very well that that was most certainly not the case, aroused him. John was so good at slipping under the radar. Being strong or caring when the time called for it, easily shifting into his attitudes. Not many people got to see those sides of John and Sherlock was privileged to have witnessed both and been on the receiving end of both.

"What's got you smiling?"

He blinked, looking to John in confusion.

"You're smiling at me," clarified the man. "I was wondering what was going through your mind. You haven't told me about the case yet, either."

Feeling a little exposed at his moment of weakness being pointed out, Sherlock spouted a half formed idea in his mind and dove right into the detail of the case and the lack of intelligence Anderson had displayed.

He felt warm inside when John smiled and laughed at everything he had to say.

It was nice to be appreciated.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **9 December 2015, Wednesday:**

John was licking a red and white striped peppermint stick and Sherlock was trying to ignore it, but the way John's tongue just danced and glided over the striped sweet made the consulting detective's trousers become tight.

He was only going to let John have hot cocoa when alone at home, because he looked much too good in such a position and the patrons of Angelo's restaurant had a perfect view of it.

The first snow to hit London had occurred over the night. At least five inches of white covering the ground. John had beamed upon realizing that they'd get a white Christmas. The former two years had been lacking in snow depth. An inch or two at the most.

Sherlock decided that after a small case that was simply a waste of their time, they'd drop by Angelo's and have some lunch.

John had gotten cocoa instead of his usual tea and Sherlock's nose twitched every time he licked the peppermint stick.

John of course, chose that moment to be observant and smirked at him, dipping the sweet into his now minty cocoa and giving it a long suck, pulling it through puckered lips.

"I'm curious, John. Do you possibly have _other_ oral fixations?"

John was not offended in the slightest. He simply smirked and said, "Wouldn't you like to know."

Sherlock saw it as the challenge it was and immediately made a mental note of it. When he reached Christmas Day, he was going to see all of John, in person. He was going to reveal every secret fantasy and kink John Watson had and it would only be him who got the privilege.

"Anyway," John continued. "I'm sure you can devote your mind to more than one thing. Or was today's photograph too much to handle?"

It was a taunt. John obviously knew what it was and he was teasing Sherlock. Teasing him on whether he was purposefully ignoring the mental image by trying to change the subject constantly and keeping busy.

"I can handle it perfectly, thank you," said the consulting detective, stiffly.

John glanced under the table and smiled, "Yes, I suppose you can."

Sherlock angled his front away from John by twirling in his seat to sit sideways, crossing his right leg over his left. "Exactly. Though as we're on the subject, perhaps you'd allow me to cover your body with chocolate and allow me to lick it off?"

Sherlock couldn't hold back his giggle when John choked on his cocoa.

 _Yes, I can play that game rather well, John._

Just because the photo of the day was a profile of John against Afghanistan's setting sun, doing inverted sit ups while nude, curled halfway up with his erection pressed against his tight abs, didn't mean that Sherlock wasn't capable of cognizant thought. Sherlock had good self control when the situation required it. At home, it was not required, but he was able to control his mind palace well enough that even though he was thinking of John's photo, he hadn't brought up the image for his feasting, mental eyes.

Besides, a public toilet was in no way a place to relieve oneself.

Sherlock could wait for home.

He was good at waiting.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **10 December 2015, Thursday:**

"What could possibly have happened all the way out here?"

Sherlock had John under the pretense that they were out in the middle of nowhere for a case that reached at least a **Level 8** on his personal scale. What it really was, was their day to pick a tree. Sherlock had simply wanted it to be a surprise.

Mycroft had been easy to bribe into lending some muscle for the day. Also transportation for their way back to London. His men were all over the area, ready to assist the moment John chose the tree he wanted.

The blond stared at the sign on the wooden building and sent Sherlock an amused glare. "You couldn't just tell me that this was what we were going to be doing today?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," said Sherlock, unrepentant.

"You git. How are we going to-"

In that moment, three men in fashionable suits stepped up behind the doctor, two holding thick rope and the third with an ax in hand. John merely stared for the better part of a minute, before shrugging and swinging his arms.

"Okay then! Let's hunt down a nice one!"

Linking fingers with Sherlock, John started leading them off to the shop, trudging through the snow that reached up to his calves easily. He was smiling, which meant that he was happy. And not the happy - _I'm about the beat the shite out of you. -_ kind of grin. Nor was it the - _you fucked up_ \- kind of grin. It was a warm and fuzzy one that made Sherlock proud that he'd gotten the decision right.

After smooth talking the owner of the land, Sherlock and John - plus their additions - made their way out into the snowy forest of trees that were grown specifically for Christmas and decorating.

John seemed to know what he wanted.

"Eight to ten feet," he had said. "We don't want it to be too large, but at least have it be of good height. I also want a full body. Nothing sparse. City shops sell you emaciated trees for more than they're worth. This one has to be just right."

He tsked and sneered the further then went, until his eyes landed on one particular tree and he sent Sherlock the widest grin he could manage.

With a nod, Sherlock gestured for the hired men to do what they came there for and the friends-soon-to-be-lovers watched merrily as the three did all the hard work, leaving them to bundle together to keep warm.

"You do realize that we're going to have to take time to decorate this as well as the flat, right?"

"Obviously," Sherlock sniffed, "I've set aside the twelfth. We'll spend tomorrow shopping for the decorations."

John didn't stop beaming the rest of the evening. He even pulled Sherlock into another kiss at the doorway after deliberately stopping under the mistletoe.

While the tree was being put in the stand, Sherlock slipped away in order to see the advent for the day. This present was in silver and gold wrappings and the inside, was a smiling photograph of John.

Nothing sexual today. He was in a simple white shirt and jeans and was smiling warmly at the camera, his blue eyes shining in the flash of the camera. Sherlock knew that smile very well and adored it when he did something that warranted such a look from John. And now he had a neverending supply of it!

Without thinking, Sherlock left his room in order to find his best friend, who was admiring the tree which had been placed where the desk had formerly been, between the windows.

Without pause, Sherlock swept John Watson into his arms and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

Though shocked, John kissed back with fervor, rubbing his nose against Sherlock's.

"Git," he said fondly.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **11 December 2015, Friday:**

John looked to be extremely serious as he and Sherlock faced the shop, intent on finding the appropriate holiday decorations for their flat. John looked like he was about to do battle.

"You're helping this year," he warned, sending Sherlock a glare that just dared him to argue.

Sherlock was severely tempted to do just that just to see John's reaction. But he remembered that he had to be wooing and fun, so this was a day for John to celebrate the changing of the season and to ring in the new holiday or something like that.

"I wouldn't dream of doing anything else," Sherlock stated, though in his mind he _could_ think of a nice experiment that he could be doing instead.

John scoffed, but linked hands with him and dragged him through the automatic doors of the glittering shop.

"I want tinsel."

Sherlock gestured to a very large wall that was labeled as such and John's nose wrinkled. "I said tinsel, not garland."

"Is there a difference?"

Sherlock could tell that he'd walked right into that one, though he didn't know what the difference was between them.

"Tinsel strings are applied in drape like motions, whereas you can just wrap one long strand of garland around a tree and be done with it. Tinsel is applied from top to bottom, to make it look like icicles on the tree, and it must be done meticulously. It has to be done once the decorating has finished, but garland can be before _or_ after decorations."

John was already grabbing small boxes from the other side of the aisle and tossing them into the trolley. "I am willing to go strand by strand to make this perfect."

Sherlock grabbed one of the boxes to acquaint himself with was 'tinsel' really was. _1000 Count, Tinsel Strands_. And John wanted to apply them all 'meticulously'. This was going to be hell.

"What color scheme would you like this year?" John asked, staring at the grouping of tree skirts.

"What?"

"Last year we did red and gold, but I don't want this to be a repetitive thing. We should broaden our decorative palettes."

Sherlock had never before cared for decorating for holidays, so he had barely any experience in this area. John and Mrs. Hudson were the ones who wiggled around the flat for the past two years, getting decorations together and giggling about festivities.

Still, John seemed to want to include him in on everything, so Sherlock pulled up a mental version of their tree, taking in the coloring and the silver tinsel John had already grabbed. The colors that would best compliment such would be…

"Purple or Blue," he finally decided. "The blue especially would look good with your tinsel. Then you'd have to get everything to match you realize?"

John could have blinded him with a smile so large.

He was proud obviously, but there was something else in that smile. Something Sherlock hadn't seen being aimed at him before.

He didn't know what it was though.

* * *

The flat was covered in boxes, it was next to impossible to move and for Sherlock who was almost rail thin, that was an achievement that even _he_ had never accomplished in the flat.

John was perfectly at ease as he informed their growing fan base - _14,727 people saw the last blog and over 200 commented, Sherlock_ \- of their expedition that day.

While John amused himself with bad grammar and recent memories, Sherlock shut himself in his room, intent on uncovering the next photograph of John.

This present was made of a velvety material and was a rich shade of purple. Underneath, was a vision of John doing the inverted sit ups from two photos ago, except it was his backside and he was still hanging straight down, not curled up.

The only difference were the dumbbells in his hands, which he was keeping at his waist and judging from the glistening of his skin, he'd been using them as well. Every muscle was strained and Sherlock could drawn lines on every ridge presented to him.

It was arousing to recognize someone's strength but also notice that they weren't a 'meathead' and didn't feel it necessary to overdo it. John was appropriately sized _everywhere_ and Sherlock approved.

It was amazing to see the lengths John would go through just for a tantalizing gift such as his advent calendar.

When he returned to the kitchen, he saw that John had made him a cup of tea this time and Sherlock took a leaf from his book, nuzzling John's messy blond hair in gratitude and enjoying John's personal scent.

He found himself strangely interested in tomorrow.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **12 December 2015, Saturday:**

John had gotten every possible white/blue and silver/blue decoration that matched. He bought stuffing to use as fake snow because the bags of fluff that were used in the stores were too difficult to clean up and actually didn't resemble stuffing or snow in the least. Their tree skirt was blue in three tones and had little swirls of sparkling silver lines smattered across it.

John had busied himself by teaching Sherlock how to cut out detailed snowflakes from paper and Sherlock was proud to add a new skill to his list. Silhouette snowflakes were probably the best thing he'd ever seen at the holidays. If he'd known of them while younger, he might have actually liked Christmas.

Maybe.

John and Mrs. Hudson amused themselves with the normal decorations and left Sherlock to deal with the ones that had to be placed too high for either to reach. John didn't hound him over where to place anything and simply smiled whenever Sherlock asked if something he did was alright.

There were biscuits and cups of cocoa and made use of Spotify to listen to American Christmas carols that didn't make sense half of the time but the tunes were catchy so they listened anyway.

"Sherlock, are these of us?"

Said detective looked over, seeing John holding one of the many snowflakes he'd cut out. It was a silhouette of he and John leaning close together as if about to kiss. John was smiling at it and was cradling it very carefully.

"Yes."

"It's perfect!" John proceeded to place it on the mantle, where he'd placed a large strand of blue and silver garland and several silver candles. The snowflake was placed in the center, so it was easily visible.

"Oh, boys!" Mrs. Hudson sighed, smiling. "It's about bloody time, you two!"

John was beaming, "We're idiots."

She patted his cheek good-naturedly and went back to stringing lights on the tree.

Her comment brought forth questions, for Sherlock at least. How many people who asked if they were a couple, genuinely meant it and weren't just trying to be funny or rude? If people were walking around waiting for Sherlock and John to 'finally' become a couple, then Sherlock severely misread the situation.

He had been under the assumption that those people were trying to see if John was free for dating, but perhaps there was more to it.

And John's response!

John always swore he wasn't gay, but that… didn't mean he was only heterosexual. Sherlock was shocked at how he'd missed that little loophole in John's claims.

Sherlock loved it when John was being brilliant! Usually, Sherlock was petulant when being one-upped by someone, but for some reason he loved it when John managed to do so. It was pleasing to note that John could be devious when he wanted to be.

"John, are you planning to wrap lights around the banister outside or no?" Sherlock asked, remembering that John had wanted to do it the former year but never got the chance and when he asked Sherlock to do it, Sherlock put it off until he didn't have to.

John blinked in shock but nodded. Sherlock took up an extension cord and a nearby box of white lights and went to do the deed. By doing so, he made sure that John realized he had in fact paid attention to the way John liked to decorate last year. And he was also saving John the trouble of bearing the cold and the snow, by doing something he'd complained about having to do last year.

When Sherlock returned a few moments later, Mrs. Hudson was sweeping the floor, picking up all the stray pieces of fluff and wrappings that had fallen during their decorating. John was filling a bag with that larger pieces and spared a small smile for Sherlock who slipped the now empty box of lights in with the other rubbish.

John took the rubbish out while Sherlock shifted a few things to make them even. A candle, a piece of snow/fluff, a Christmas card.

"Time for ornaments!" John cheered and Mrs. Hudson clapped happily, descending on the brown storage container that held their new and old tree trimmings.

Sherlock knew that John was just buzzing to get to the tinsel, eyes flickering to the boxes he'd bought, excitement nearly palatable.

The meticulous placing of each, individual ornament took time and effort. Things had to reflect the light the proper way. Some needed to fill gaps in the tree. John even had the ones Sherlock had chosen in the front and easily visible, so that Sherlock's preferences were a part of their Christmas.

Those ones being a skull, a heart, and a germ. Most odd ornaments for a tree, but Sherlock had found them and liked them and it made him feel all warm inside that John would put them out so people could see them. And the pride in his face as he did it!

"Time for tinsel."

When it became apparent that John was indeed going strand by strand, Sherlock departed, intent on finding the 12th photograph on the advent tree.

John looked good in red, Sherlock decided. The photo was John in a simple, red pair of pants that were adorned with a small white bow. The bow rested right over his obviously erect package and made Sherlock salivate greedily. He wanted to see John in those again. Wanted to press his face against them and peel them off with his teeth.

Feeling heat stirring below the waist, Sherlock took a fortifying breath and returned to John and Mrs. Hudson, walking in such a way that his dressing gown hid his erection well enough. Only someone really looking for it would see it and as most people didn't observe, he should be fine.

He must have been gone longer that assumed, because John had only one box left and a few strands to go before he finished. Sherlock had to admit, the tree made more sense with tinsel than garland. But he did feel a stab of worry over the cleanup involved.

Still, John was overjoyed, so Sherlock could keep his comments to himself.

For now.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **13 December 2015, Sunday:**

"I don't want to go out to Brussels just for a case that _barely_ reaches a **Level 6**!" pouted Sherlock, annoyed with his brother. "Why shoudl I care what a bunch of idiots are doing in another country? It has nothing to do with me!"

He'd had plans for today and instead, he and John had gotten a case offer, more like a demand since Mycroft was the one who posed the entire plot. John was all for it, since it had been a while since they had gotten a worthwhile case that had some intrigue. Something about Neo-Nazis causing a ruckus and Sherlock had immediately wanted nothing to do with it all. But John, being the protective man he was, wanted to help since people were being murdered.

A group of Mongolian Neo-Nazis was at war with a group of Russian Neo-Nazis and both 'had to be stopped'. Mycroft wanted Sherlock to go to Belgium and sort it all out as all the members of MI6 that had been sent over to handle the growing issue, had disappeared. So Sherlock was to find the whereabouts of the missing agents, shut down both operations, and bring whatever information he could find, back.

Mycroft was staring him down coldly, "This is a matter of-"

"It has _nothing_ to do with Britain, I don't know why you care!"

"Sherlock, their mischief started in Mongolia and has slowly made its progress across the EurAsian continents. They began in Mongolia, slipped through Kazakhstan, then Russia, the Ukraine, Poland, Germany, and have settled in Belgium for the time being. Hundreds of people in each country have disappeared under terrorist claims and the swastika has been flying too freely in the areas they disappeared.

A group would go missing and then turn up dead in terrible fashions. And then another, in a manner even worse. Both groups fly a different colored flag, allowing the people to differentiate them."

John simply stood between them as they argued, stony but not annoyed.

"Also, as they are getting closer and closer to Britain, I'd prefer if both groups were terminated before they reach us. And it is entirely possible that the one behind these two groups who is giving them the ability to cause such mayhem… may in fact be Moriarty."

Sherlock wanted to spend his December wooing John with ice skating, not going off to a place that sounded like a disgusting vegetable, to solve a problem that had nothing to do with his country… yet. But at the same time he really didn't want to let something Moriarty was doing, continue. Sherlock loved ruining people's plans and to piss off the Irish midget would be golden.

John bumped him in the arm and smiled, "Come on Sherlock, you know you want to."

"But-but I had plans… for us," pouted the detective.

"Then I consider that good enough. That fact that you actually had something in mind is okay."

"But what about the advent calendar?" Sherlock whimpered, not wanting to miss it.

John sent him a saucy wink. "Then you'll just have to see it when you come back, won't you?"

Sherlock, enjoying Mycroft's discomfort at John's flirtatious actions, sidled even closer to his doctor in order to purr, "Can I possible get some incentive for this trip of ours then?"

Mycroft chose that moment to loudly clear his throat. "While I am positively thrilled that you have _finally_ discovered one another's attraction, this is not the time to be romantic. You can save that for after the mission."

Sherlock was always a rebel and just to annoy Mycroft, he wrapped his arms around John's shorter frame and pulled him in for a heated kiss, which he responded eagerly to, returning the suggestive embrace with equal fervor. And they stood in the middle of their drawing room, lips locked obscenely as Mycroft's head fell into his hands.

"Are you finished yet?"

They gave it another moment, before pulling away, breathless.

"Well then, we've already packed bags for you and will provide the transportation. Gentlemen, to the airport."

* * *

 **Extra:**

Mycroft didn't know why Sherlock felt an advent calendar was so important that he'd miss a case for it, but when he walked into Sherlock's room and laid eyes on the door length decoration, he flushed and quickly departed.

There were just certain things about John Watson that he never wanted to see… no matter how impressive they were.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **14 December 2015, Monday:**

"If they are so brazen to roam around out in the open, why has nobody done anything to stop them?" John asked as they sat in a small cafe, watching the street.

Several men in the colors of red and blue, were situated at various entrances to the street. The ones in red had their swastika flags sewn into their jackets. The ones in blue wore theirs as head coverings.

Sherlock was frowning, "If everyone who goes after them dies, I wouldn't be shocked that no one is brave enough to take them down. It takes higher intelligence to solve a problem such as this, that's why Mycroft came to _me_ after all."

John smirked, "You'll catch them."

"Obviously. Hopefully soon, because I don't want to be here. I hate Belgium."

"Why?"

"The folly of youth overcame me for a summer and it was the worst of my life. I'll tell you when we're not on some dangerous mission that could end up with us being killed."

"We're not going to die because _you_ are going to put their brilliant brain of yours to work and catch these idiots."

Sherlock spared a small smile, loving how John was so confident in him. It was nice.

* * *

"You speak Russian?" John asked, shocked for some reason.

"Yes."

"And you're just going to walk up to the Russian man over there, who is at least twice your physical mass, and strike up a conversation about his gang?"

"That's the idea, yes."

"Please be careful, Sherlock."

"I'm always careful."

John snorted and Sherlock couldn't argue because he most certainly wasn't 'always careful'.

* * *

Sherlock didn't even bother to look at the serrated knife that the vaguely non-threatening man obviously wanted to shove into his stomach. His eyes were deliberately looking behind the man to where John was standing a few feet away, gun raised, expression thunderous.

He murmured a warning in Russian, letting the man know that he was about to be shot, but the man chose not to believe him. It was his choice then. His head on the line.

When John cocked the gun, the tough guy before him was suddenly shaking, dropping his weapon and placing his hands on his head. He murmured something about having a family and how he couldn't die yet. If he was so worried about them, why wasn't he home with them? Why waste his time millions of miles from home?

" _So thrilled that you see it our way,_ " Sherlock smirked, sending a wink John's way. " _We have much to discuss._ "

* * *

"We need to send the information to Mycroft."

"He can wait."

"Sherlock, it would be best if we had backup. I only have one gun and it only has thirteen rounds."

That time John decided to make sense… in favor of Mycroft of all people… was not sexy in the least. Sherlock withheld his whining because it was still during the Advent Game and he was not going to ruin his chances! Whether John and he were actually in a relationship now or not, didn't matter. Sherlock didn't like losing.

He was going to be good.

He could do this!

"Oh Sherlock," said John softly, placing a kiss on his cheek. "What am I to do with you, you git?"

"Love me, feed me, never leave me."

Cornflower blue eyes crinkled with emotion, "Always."

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **15 December 2015, Tuesday:**

Of all the things Sherlock had done in his young life, this admittedly, had to be the most foolish! And he could willingly admit it because he wasn't an idiot and while he felt ashamed, he was willing to face his mistakes.

John had been taken.

Sherlock was about ready to lose his bloody mind. Everything has been going fine, nothing to really worry about in terms of the mission, and then suddenly the cell that John has been appointed to, was gone. Their receivers, their phones, every electronic device on them was gone.

Sherlock was not used to panicking. Before John came into his life he had never really experienced the emotion of panic. Except that one danger night he had where he ran out of nicotine patches and brandy but other than that, his life have been rather normal in terms of emotional display.

But now, the most important person and Sherlock's life was missing. Sherlock didn't really care about the four other people who are missing as well. They were Mycroft's people and they didn't really matter in the long run because they were expendable. What mattered was John Watson, who was not expendable. And no matter what Mycroft said, Sherlock could not calm down.

"Sherlock will you please just wait a moment?"

The consulting detective sent a fierce glare at his brother and sneered, "John is out there with your lackeys, possibly being tortured for information or even killed and you want me to sit by and ' _wait a moment_ '?"

Mycroft didn't react to his sneer in the least. The man simply stared at him with a blank expression until Sherlock got so fed up with him that he sat down with an irritated huff.

"What do you want?" the man in the brunet.

"If I recall correctly, a few months ago you and Dr. Watson agreed to have small locating chips surgically implanted into your bodies."

The information brought Sherlock up short. Both of them had agreed to do so because they both always got into too many dangerous situations and it would just be easier to be able to find the other. How had Sherlock forgotten that?

With that revelation, Sherlock knew that they'd be able to find John.

"We have already located his chip," said Mycroft. "I had to stop you before you ran off to make a fool of yourself without knowing what you were doing. Now are you coming to find the good doctor or shall I go without you?"

Sherlock was already out the door, an assault rifle thrown over shoulder. While guns weren't usually his typical fare in terms of weaponry, Sherlock was prepared to shoot anyone if he found out that John had been hurt. There would be hell to pay.

* * *

Old warehouses weren't exactly an original concept when it came to gangs and wanted criminals. It seemed that nobody could find it in themselves to actually choose a hideout that wouldn't get them caught.

HeIt was about a prime target for other criminal classes, so Sherlock did not know why they would subsist to such substandard living conditions. He was quite certain that Moriarty did not live in a shabby warehouse. Why couldn't the criminal classes just be smarter? Or at least have more imagination?

Mycroft's people were armed to the teeth and covered from head to toe in protective layering. Sherlock wore no other layers accept his own clothing and he started right into the warehouse, prepared to shoot people down. What he found however, was a large collection of people strapped to various chairs all around the room and separating all of them were lines and lines of barrels.

It was like something out of a shabby Hollywood film. One of those stories that had the usual cliche that was played upon too much and had as many loopholes as they could find that had thousands upon thousands of films created like it simply because nobody had a good enough imagination to think of anything better.

The barrels were loaded with gasoline and there was a bomb strapped to the barrel in the very center of the room. And it was counting down. Luckily for them they had about an hour of time left before the bomb would have to go off.

Sherlock, being the only person around with the experience in dealing with bombs, ended up having to be the one to disarm it. He had wanted to find John immediately but as the transportation of the hostages might take a while and they had to be careful of any wires and tripping them it was simply best if he went and did what he did and got out of it.

It took him about ten minutes.

Men, women, and children, whole families had been taken. There were tears, urine, blood, and a lot of hyperventilation.

Sherlock found John in the farthest corner of the room and the person nearest him was a little girl no more than 8 years old. She was crying and John was simply murmuring positive things and asking if she liked cats or dogs and what her favorite color was and what her favorite ice cream was.

As always, John's life was in danger but he was worrying about everybody else around him.

The moment that John had been liberated from his holdings, Sherlock roughly pulled his doctor into a kiss.

"I knew you'd find me, so I tried to calm them down," John admitted, smiling brightly for only Sherlock.

"I'll always come for you," promised the detective, tucking his best friend into his arms and simply standing there, letting his heartbeat return to a normal pace.

John was okay.

That was good.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

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	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **16 December 2015, Wednesday:**

Sherlock had never been in the middle of a war zone, but if he were to describe one, it would be just like this. He and John and twenty-five armed men and women of MI6 were in a shootout with two Neo-Nazi gangs.

Having realized that they had gotten the attention of several people who sought to terminate their existence, the gangs decided to work together to take out all the members of MI6. Of all the places to have this kind of fight, they chose a junkyard.

Sherlock had jumped in a skip before, had gone skip fishing for objects that he needed, but he had never been in a junkyard and it smelled terrible. Not only the rust on the cars, but the stench of body odor, blood, gunpowder, and so many other things spoiedl the air around them.

There were loud explosions and screams and Sherlock could barely keep his eye on where John was. John was rolling back and forth shooting enemies down with a apparent ease and reloading his rifle every time it was empty. Sherlock realized how privileged he was to see John in his element, doing what he had been doing for years. None of the people they were fighting beside knew who John was, and would most likely not pay attention to anything that he was doing other than shooting people down, so it was basically Sherlock. Sherlock would be the only person that John knew intimately, who got to see him in such a way.

He had to admit, John was very sexy when he was all business.

Sherlock's attention was drawn back to their opponents. He really had to wonder how groups as big as these two managed to traverse almost the entire length of Eurasia without getting caught. They were so obvious it was annoying.

Obviously somebody carrying that much firepower was a threat and obviously somebody should have looked into it. The fact that Great Britain had to come to the defense of the mainland and end such a threat, was an insult to all who came before.

Sherlock shot down a man for John, and felt pride run throw him when the man collapsed, his gun falling limp beside him. No one was going to take John Watson away from him and no one will take him away from John Watson.

Sherlock and never shot anyone before. He'd never actually killed anyone either, and he really had to admit that it wasn't as bad as some people claimed it was. It was probably because he was used to seeing dead bodies all the time that the prospect and art of killing, personally did not affect them in the least.

There weren't many left now. On of Mycroft's men had a grenade launcher and they had used it twice already, blowing up several cars and people.

Sherlock ducked behind a stray dog, counting in his head how many shots had flown by him. He waited a few seconds and aimed for his assailant.

Everything slowed down suddenly and it was as if he could see even the dust particles in the air. Something hot and painful had pierced his abdomen the same moment his bullet went straight through the enemy's left eye. Sherlock was falling backward, slow and steady, his body collapsing from the sudden intrusion and shock.

There were shouts and screams of worry, and Sherlock could just barely hear John's voice over the din. Someone was shaking him but he was unable to respond. His mind palace beckoned and Sherlock allowed himself to slip away into his mind in order to escape the pain of reality.

" _SHERLOCK_!"

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

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	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **17 December 2015, Thursday:**

Sherlock regained consciousness in a very slow manner. He could feel the heaviness in his limbs lightening up and could feel something warm clutching his right hand. Then there was the light nearly blinding him from behind his eyelids. It was light, it was bright, and he wanted it off.

"Sherlock," a soft voice called out. "Sherlock, please tell me that you're deciding to wake up completely this time?"

Sherlock was unable to get his vocal cords to work. With no sound coming from him, he had to subsist to small movements. He was also unable to open his eyes so he simply moved his eyeballs back and forth beneath his eyelids and let the tips of his fingers twitch just a little bit.

"Lift your index finger twice if you're awake," ordered the voice.

The amount of effort it took for him to twitch his index finger twice, was ridiculous. He actually had to go through several mental pep talks in order to get his body to function the way it should have. One thing Sherlock always despised about his biology was the fact that it could not completely submit to his proper brain function. As the superior organ in the body the brain should obviously have control over everything. Voluntary and involuntary muscles. It just would have made his life so much easier.

"Oh, thank God you're awake. I've been so worried about you you git."

That was John's voice. John was holding his hand. If Sherlock wasn't currently trying to fight on consciousness, he would probably say that this was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He always loved it with John initiated touch first. John had always been closed into himself and Sherlock had never had issues with breaching someone else's personal space before.

"I have to tell the nurse that you woke up, okay?"

Before he could protest, John's warmth was gone and Sherlock literally forced himself awake in order to see where his John had gone.

The room was too white for his liking, nearly blinding him with its intensity. He winced minutely, still looking around with blurry vision, for his stout doctor.

John was back with a tall man in toe. The man was speaking, but Sherlock ignored him because he wasn't important. Instead, Sherlock waited impatiently for John to clasp his hand again in order for him to try his hardest at holding it.

"Sherlock, you need to answer his questions. Squeeze my hand if your answer is 'yes', okay?"

Reluctantly, Sherlock squeezed the warm, calloused hand held in his own.

If only to make him leave.

* * *

"You were shot, luckily nothing else important was hit," John explained. "I was so scared," he admitted.

"You're my best friend, Sherlock. The most important person in my life and I can't lose you. I don't even want to think about what could have happened."

His John sounded so lost and broken and Sherlock greatly wished that he had his strength so he could reassure his friend with a hug or even a kiss.

"On a brighter note, the gangs have been eliminated! Mycroft even ran!"

Sherlock didn't even need to squeeze John's hand to get the story behind that.

And it was perfect.

Almost made up for his suffering in a hospital.

Almost.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

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	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **18 December 2015, Friday:**

Using Mycroft to ensure that John could stay in the hospital with Sherlock all night was easy. Some guilt tripping and his brother - who claimed that 'caring is not an advantage' - caved within seconds. It could also be because he partially blamed himself for Sherlock having gotten shot, but that was neither here nor there. Sherlock won that round and that was all there was to it.

He learned that they were back in London and that Mycroft was prepping the flat for his return. He had installed a ramp on the stairs and had it carpeted to help with traction against the wheelchair. Sherlock was not allowed to walk because he'd been hit so low in the abdomen and abnormal stretching of his lower limbs wouldn't be prudent.

However, since John was the one who would be tending to him - which was what allowed Sherlock to go home early in the first place - he couldn't mind all that much.

And what perked him up the most was the fact that he had several days worth of photographs of John to see. Of course he was going home late at night and it might actually be early the next morning when he got around to it, but he was still holding onto that hope.

"You won't be doing any walking for a few days," stated John.

Sherlock huffed petulantly because this cut into all of the plans he has formulated over their small holiday in Belgium. He wanted to take John ice skating. He knew John had had an interest in it and he wanted to see if the doctor had good posture and balance while on ice skates or not.

Since he wasn't allowed to walk, he most certainly wasn't going to be allowed to ice skate and that was a downer.

Sherlock pouted childishly, putting anyone under the age of ten to shame. Of course it was difficult when John was being so bloody kind and caring. John really didn't like all of the negativity that people brought into the holiday season, so Sherlock struggled with keeping a more positive attitude because he didn't want to ruin John's holiday. He had spectacularly ruined the former two and he wasn't going to be the reason the holiday this year wasn't up to par.

"It's okay Sherlock," assured John. "I get to stay home and take care of you until you're allowed to move around on your own!"

No days at the clinic!

Suddenly, his confinement to 221B wasn't as bad as it seemed.

* * *

Lestrade was there to welcome them back along with Mrs. Hudson. He had brought several cold case files for Sherlock to dig through so his brain could have some worthwhile exercise while his body was on bed rest. Sherlock had to stifle the gratitude he felt because he couldn't afford to let the emotion show too much. He was supposed to be a sociopath for God's sake!

The warm pat on the back he got from the silver haired detective inspector told him that he didn't stifle as well as he thought. Blast!

Mrs. Hudson did make her special Christmas biscuits as a welcome back present so he couldn't be too annoyed. She patted their faces and told them to be good, before returning to her flat, humming some Christmas Carol he remembered form his childhood.

"Sherlock, you'll have to eat to keep your strength up, you do realize?" John asked, giving him the Look.

Yes. The Look.

Sherlock sighed, "I know. But that does not mean I have to like it."

"Rightly so," grinned John as he traipsed out to the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

Sherlock leaned over in his wheelchair and grabbed John's laptop that had been gathering dust while they were gone. He accepted the small sandwich and cup of tea with dignity and relinquished John's possession, knowing he wanted to blog about the latest drama.

What Sherlock wanted most, was to see John's Advent Calendar. It'd been _so long_!

"Wait until tomorrow, Sherlock," John said. "It's only a few hours away and you'll have one extra surprise waiting for you if you do."

Reluctantly, Sherlock allowed himself to calm down.

He could do this.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

John's fond smile helped him keep calm.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I HAVE A COLD AND I'M KNOCKED UP WITH MEDICINE SO I COULDN'T MENTION THE PHOTOS RIGHT NOW 'CAUSE I WANT THEM TO BE SEXY AND MY BRAIN IS SO EFFED UP, I'M FORGETTING EVERYTHING TODAY. SORRY.**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

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 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **19 December 2015, Saturday:**

He'd been waiting for this for days. Waiting carefully and patiently for the big revelation. Several days on the mainland, simply having to exercise control in a foreign environment.

But he was home now and John was in the other room should he need some help and Sherlock was going to pull himself off his bed and unhook that damn calendar from the door!

It took some work and slow movement because skin was pulling against skin and it was tight and uncomfortable, but he finally managed to stand on his own. He wouldn't need the wheelchair for a whole five feet to and from the door, he could get there just fine.

He supported himself against the wall and shimmied on over, unhooking the green treen and shimmying back to the bed where he sat back down again.

He grabbed the burgundy ribbon of the thirteenth gift and pulled it apart to reveal his John, laying on top of a picnic table. He was bench pressing a large amount of weight, arms held straight above his body, balancing the weight perfectly. He had his legs pointing straight out though, instead of hanging over the edge. That way he had to work his abdominals and glutes to the maximum.

Every muscle protruded exactly, but not obscenely.

The best part of it was that John was naked and his cock stood at attention, giving a salute to all who watched.

The fourteenth gift was a silver doorway with two flaps.

John - who was still naked - was holding dumbbells once again, except they were on the ground and he was doing inverted push ups with them. His entire body pointed upward, feet to the sky. He was halfway down, head level with his biceps.

Sherlock had to sit back and marvel at that. John was physically strong enough to hold his own body weight up. That didn't just require strength in the arms, but in almost every muscle in the body. Discipline that would keep his muscles perfectly rigid until they had to be used or relaxed. So nothing would sway out of place.

John wasn't fat even though he weighed more than Sherlock did. It was all muscle and even though he couldn't do the same workouts from before his injury, he was still toned and strong.

Sherlock had always thought that one case where John had literally ran out of a burning building they'd been spying in, holding Sherlock bridal style as he had been injured mid flight, was the hottest thing he'd ever experienced. And he'd experimented _a lot_ with his sexuality so that was saying something.

All of this was the reason why.

Briefly, he wondered if John ever got into gymnastics. It would explain a lot.

The fifteenth present was orange with green stripes and while the outside was hideous, the inside was enough to make Sherlock's erection solidify in his pajamas.

He didn't know John's tongue was pierced.

But it very clearly was and in the photograph, he was smirking lightly at the camera, a small hook attached to the hole in his pink, delicate tongue. Attached to the hook however, was a small stack of weights, three in all and John's tongue was curled upward. The weights were dangling near John's waist, proving how strong that tongue and upper body were. On the side of the photograph was scribbled: **6.35kg**.

John must have had a versatile tongue.

While Sherlock could appreciate everything about John, there was something arousing about this particular photograph and Sherlock made doubly sure to save this image for several places in his mind palace.

Still shivering delectably from the sexual onslaught, Sherlock fixed his attention on the sixteenth photo.

John certainly knew how to pose. Sherlock wondered if someone else had to situate him for this or if it was a part of John's natural charm. If John became so brazen when his clothes were off, Sherlock couldn't wait to see it all first hand. And second hand. And definitely over and over again.

It was a closeup of John's back which was facing the camera and he was doing a handstand, but his legs were swung far out to either side, almost as if he was doing an air split. It gave Sherlock a perfect view of his bum, which was spread apart thanks to the position John was in.

John had a little birthmark on his right cheek!

Though he could only see from John's waist and down - _or was it up, considering he was upside down?_ \- he knew very well who it was and appreciated the chance to memorize all the little intricacies of John's physique.

He had arse dimples.

Enough said.

The seventeenth photo was another smile. Happy go lucky. John was bundled in a hideous jumper, but he looked ecstatic and cheerful.

Sherlock adored those moments and saved it for later. Whenever John was angry with him, he could pull up this photo and stare at it longingly until John's wrath dissipated.

Number eighteen got him back on track, cock twitching in appreciation.

Straight up masturbation. John was reclined against the boulder from several photos ago, propped up on one hand and the opposite one was stroking his tanned cock very slowly. And leaking from the tip was just a small amount of pre-ejaculate.

The look on John's face was in perfect harmony with the overall theme. He looked devilish. As if daring the viewer to continue watching. How Sherlock wished it was a film and not a photo.

John never acted in such a way and it would be lovely to see it in reality.

The final photo he had missed, for yesterday, was a close up from the former photo except John had managed to bring himself to orgasm and had ejaculated all over his own fist -which Sherlock may as well mention - only took up half the length of his cock.

If he guessed from the dimensions of the photo, John's cock was about seven and a half inches, maybe a little more. It was thick too, which was perfectly okay with Sherlock.

And to think… that was going to inside of him soon enough.

He shivered, palming himself through his bottoms in order to regulate his arousal. One more photo. Only one more.

Now that he was finally up to speed with the days of the Advent Calendar, Sherlock allowed himself to see what John looked like for the nineteenth.

And Sherlock hefted himself into his wheelchair and rolled himself out to the bathroom because there were certain places that erections could be dealt with and his bedroom provided none of the comforts necessary for the activity.

The mental image of John licking his own cum off his fingers would haunt Sherlock for the rest of the day.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **20 December 2015, Sunday:**

 **The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

 **20 Dec**

 **We ended up going to Belgium for a few days in order to settle a dispute between some Neo-Nazi gangs. I'm not allowed to give much information regarding the mission but I can tell you all that Sherlock got shot.**

 **He is currently recovering and is a little miserable, though he has some good things to keep him occupied. Hopefully more things will get his attention away from being stuck in a wheelchair for a few days.**

 **On another note, Belgium chocolate and waffles are really good! And putting both together had to be the most amazing breakfast I've had in ages. And Sherlock actually ate too! Though he has a sweet tooth and would sooner consume a chocolate bar or a biscuit than some toast.**

 **Other than Sherlock's little hiccup in his health, we're doing good and I thought I should inform everyone that Sherlock and I are no longer single and have finally stopped being idiots!**

 **Best regards,**

 **John H. Watson.**

Sherlock smiled at the latest entry on John's blog, which had over two hundred comments already and most were fans who had something to say about them 'finally becoming a couple'.

 **Mycroft Holmes 20 December 16:30** _Finally. Seeing the two of you groping each other but denying your growing relationship was beginning to grate on my ever dwindling nerves._

Sherlock scoffed and decided to respond.

 **Sherlock Holmes 20 December 16:43** _Not the only thing about you that's dwindling._

 **Mycroft Holmes 20 December 16:45** _Just remember, little brother, I'm not the one who has to inform mummy of why you didn't see her for Christmas the last two years!_

Oh he was playing dirty!

 **Sherlock Holmes 20 December 16:51** _I will have you know that I spoke to her just this morning and promised that John and I would be coming up for the holidays. She also knew that I was catering to John for our last two Christmases and was pleased to learn of me finally nabbing someone._

 _She however, was quite interested in knowing why you left me get shot. Prepare for the stick!_

 **John Watson 20 December 16:56** _Excuse me, but when were you catering to me at all last Christmas?_

Sherlock sighed.

 **Sherlock Holmes 20 December 16:59** _When you ruined my sock index with your unnecessary snooping and I gave you no trouble over it. When you felt the need to coddle me like a lost child and I didn't fight it._

 _May I remind you that in return, you ended your current relationship in order to spend time watching over me because you worried about me and I didn't brag once._

 _I was impeccably kind to your girlfriend compared to the others, because it was the holidays and you seemed to like her(for whatever reason)._

 **Mycroft Holmes 20 December 17:02** _This isn't over, Sherlock._

Yes it was.

 **John Watson 20 December 17:05** _You git. ^-^_

 **Greg Lestrade 20 December 17:08** _Congrats guys! Mycroft, your mother wants you to call her immediately, she doesn't know how to navigate her laptop yet._

 **Mycroft Holmes 20 December 17:11** _Why is she calling you?_

 **Greg Lestrade 20 December 17:15** _She wanted to know if I was coming to your family get together and was appalled to realize I knew nothing about it. Your ear will be red once she's through with you, luv._

Sherlock was smirking, loving it when Mycroft was in trouble.

 **Sherlock Holmes 20 December 17:17** _Tsk, tsk, brother mine._

 **John Watson 20 December 17:19** _Don't get too high on your horse there, Sherlock. I don't recall you telling me about a family get together either._

Damn!

 **Mycroft Holmes 20 December 17:21** _'Tsk, tsk' indeed._

* * *

Sherlock had backed John up against the fridge, his doctor fitting perfectly between the box at his back and the man at his front.

They could only kiss. All sexual acts had to wait until Christmas and Sherlock wasn't allow much room for movement. He could walk small distances and that was the extent he'd been given.

So, he took the chance to press up against his John and reward him for the photo of the day, which was another fluffy one of John in a thick, woolen jumper, holding mistletoe over his head and looking expectantly at the camera.

Sherlock was simply fulfilling the baseline of their desires.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **21 December 2015, Monday:**

"Sherlock, you shouldn't be moving around so much, you're not fully healed."

"John, I have always produced cells at an alarming rate allowing me to heal much faster than normal people. I will soon be okay. It was a shot to the abdomen and the bullet was stuck inside. I'd be having a much harder time if it went completely through. I should be perfectly capable of walking around by Christmas."

"Yes, but that's four days away. Why are you trying so hard now?"

"You'll see."

The Yard was having their Christmas do this night and Sherlock knew John wanted to go. So… they were going. One way or another.

* * *

"You're willing to go to a Christmas party where Anderson and Donovan will no doubt be, just to make me happy?" John asked, tears in his eyes.

"Yes."

John pecked his cheek, "You thoughtful git.

The cab ride was uncomfortable for Sherlock, having gotten used to relaxing the past few days. The bumps and potholes of the city just seemed to deliberately get in the way, jostling him to and fro and making him wince a bit as his stitches pulled.

John ran a soothing hand over his thigh and he allowed himself to relax. It would be over soon. He could sit at the party and simply watch as John mingled.

That was a sound plan.

In his lap were several case files that he'd managed to solve in his spare time. Lestrade would not doubt approve of having them finished. Sherlock even wrote down some notes to be even more helpful.

* * *

Whoever made the punch had done something right. Sherlock wouldn't admit it out loud but he really liked the flavors and ended up drinking four glasses of the punch.

Lestrade then had to come and ruin it. "You like Anderson's punch?"

What the hell?!

"I'm just joking with you!" grinned the man. "It's actually Donovan's!"

That wasn't any better!

Sherlock set the glass down, frowning at the floor.

"Sherlock, it's okay. _I_ made the punch with sherbet, ale, and some chopped fruit. Lighten up."

Lestrade ruffled his already messy curls and stalked off to chat up one of his coworkers.

The people around him were dressed in hideous jumpers as it was that type of party. Sherlock had not participated in that requirement, though John was all for it. There was a poll going for the one who had the worst jumper. The winner received a small prize of whatever people brought that was placed in a glass bowl.

Sherlock had been put in charge of tallying up the votes. John had won but the revelation wouldn't come until later.

John's jumper was the worst of his collection.

Five different shades of yellow and rogance, with bright green jagged lines covering it. There were various pink and purple baubles dangling off it, such as bells, and ribbons. To make it worse, the back was decorated with poorly stitched words that said, 'Happy Holidays', but was misspelled and the letters were a garish shade of tan, spotted with black. On top of it all, it sparkled with gold glitter.

It was terrible.

But John was having so much fun that Sherlock resigned himself, sitting in his hard chair and simply tuning out the horrendous music. Filling his mind with memories of the past month which had gone by a lot faster than he thought it would.

The photo of the day wasn't actually a photo. It was a to do list, instructing the viewer on proper masturbation technique. Two different kinds depending on the genitalia the viewer had.

Sherlock laid back in bed as the first step suggested and chose only one image from the former days to think about. He then had to trail his fingers carefully up and down his shaft but was not allowed to grip it or stroke himself. It was a teasing sort of thing, making himself cum from only light touches and intense thoughts of John.

He'd done it of course, proudly. But it was exhausting and the grin John wore all afternoon had Sherlock flushed. John knew that Sherlock had pleasured himself at John's order basically, and John apparently liked that idea.

Sherlock liked that John liked it.

A peck on the cheek brought him into the present and he blinked up at John, who was smiling proudly.

"Can I get a kiss, you great git?"

"Of course," Sherlock purred, pulling John by his hideous jumper so he could claim John openly in front of Scotland Yard.

 _He is mine. All of you can fuck off._

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

 **REPORT: My grandmother had cancer in her kidneys and it spread to her spine. Her spine began collapsing so badly she went from 5'4" to 4'7". It spread to her arm and a recent MRI showed that the cancer reached her brain too. On Saturday 19 December, she was in so much pain they had to heavily sedate her. She could no longer respond physically despite hearing. I got sick and since she had been showing signs of improvement, I didn't go see her for the past few days. I didn't want to get her sick and be the reason she died.**

 **Nana passed a few hours ago. And I hadn't seen her in a week.**

 **I feel like shit.**

* * *

 **22 December 2015, Tuesday:**

"Are you sure you don't want to go with Mycroft and Greg?"

"We'd have to share a vehicle with the two of them," said Sherlock, sounding as if it was the worst thing to ever happen. "I don't want to deal with that."

John shrugged and grabbed their bags, "Do your magical thing that makes cabs appear."

* * *

The ride out to Cornwall by transit would take about seven hours in all, not counting the various stops along the way. At least the seating was spacious and no one wanted to sit near them. That left the two to cuddle in the uncomfortable seats and simply enjoy one another's company.

Sherlock busied himself by deducing every person they saw. He hadn't gotten to brag to John in a while and with John's low encouragement, he went all out, trying harder than normal.

John's giggles spurred him on to giggle as well and the two sat back, enjoying the misfortune of the fellow riders.

"That one," Sherlock said, pointing to a woman with a pea-coat and a scarf, "is having an affair and is trying to hide the evidence from her boyfriend who is right beside her. Her affair is with the boyfriend's friend over there. The boyfriend though, is also having an affair with the friend. And the friend if having an affair with the woman's sister who is sitting on her other side."

"The bloody hell are they doing?" John asked, sounding amazed and confused.

"Each other," said Sherlock simply, causing another round of giggles.

* * *

"How could you keep such a darling away from me?!" Mummy said accusingly, pulling John into a tight hug.

It seemed that John was fated to be shorter than everyone in his life. Mummy towered over him the same as Sherlock did. It was hilarious.

John smiled and handled himself admirably, greeting her warmly and accepting the pats on the head and the kisses on the cheek. He then laughed when Sherlock was forced through the same, Mummy checking his hair and his face to make sure that he was alright.

Father was much more calm, shaking John's hand and exclaiming over his firm grip.

"My boys are always getting the good ones!" Mummy crooned. "An army doctor and a detective inspector!"

She hustled them inside, telling Mycroft and Sherlock to take their significant others to their rooms.

John smiled when he saw the room Sherlock grew up in. "I'm not shocked," he said, staring at the chemistry set on the far table.

"You really shouldn't be," said Sherlock. "Not with my family at least."

"Your parents are so… normal."

Sherlock snorted, "These days, yes. In Mummy's youth she helped MI5 and father profiled serial killers. They're retired now and don't have to worry about strenuous work because Mycroft handles it all."

There was a moment of silence before John said, "I'm really not surprised."

* * *

 **The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

 **22 Dec**

 **We're going down to Cornwall for the holidays so please do not bother us for the time. We'll be up and raring to go the day after Boxing Day.**

 **Happy Holidays to all of you!**

 **Best regards,**

 **John H. Watson.**

"You know, John, we really need to work on your grammar," said Sherlock as he reviewed John's recent blog post. He'd have to go in a edit it once John was sleeping.

The blond smirked, "Be good, Sherlock. Remember, you have three more days left."

With that warning, John bundled himself into the bed and looked for all intents and purposes as if he was going to sleep.

Sherlock patiently waited until he was snoring before he went ahead and fixed the post because it was dreadful.

 **The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

 **22 Dec**

 **EDIT: We will be spending our holiday in Cornwall for the next few days. Any cases must wait until 27 December. Please keep your inanity to the bare minimum and do not waste our time with unimportant or boring problems.**

 **Enjoy the hols.**

 **Regards,**

 **-SH**

 **Mycroft Holmes 22 December 23:14** _Go to bed, Sherlock!_

 **Sherlock Holmes 22 December 23:15** _Shut up! Take your own advice!_

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **23 December 2015, Wednesday:**

"Did you really remove my entire blog post simply to make your own post? Couldn't you just add what you wanted on top of it all?"

Sherlock sipped his tea, resolutely not looking at John who was no doubt sending him an exasperated look over the rim of his own cup.

That had not actually crossed his mind in the least. Foolish.

"You git."

Mummy interrupted then, asking them their plans for the day. Resting by the fire, sledding out in the cold, baking sweets possibly.

Sherlock would have jumped if he could, but he settled for sitting up straighter and letting his eyes widen just a bit. Mummy made the best sweets and she shared the dough. Unlike some people who hogged it all - Mycroft - Mummy was geneous.

John was watching with interest, "Someone likes to help bake and I never knew of this?"

With a sniff, Sherlock said, "Mrs. Hudson primarily does the baking. And I… did not wish you to expect it constantly."

"Git."

Lestrade slapped a hand over Mycroft's mouth before the portly man could say anything.

Mummy pretended that her laugh was a cough instead.

No one called her out on it.

* * *

Sherlock was quick and only Mycroft had ever caught him before, so he wasn't expecting John to point out his shenanigans.

Mummy would beat the dough and then give him a spoonful and every time she turned around, Sherlock would dip the spoon in again. Mummy would constantly go back for more dough and not realize why it was disappearing so quickly. She never noticed.

 _'Honestly, the recipe said five dozen not two!'_

John had seen him though. Just when he'd thought he was in the clear, John turned around too quickly and snorted, which then caused Mummy to turn around and there Sherlock was, hand halfway into the bowl of dough, trying not to look guilty and knowing that he had failed spectacularly.

Mummy - spatula in hand which was used to swat his arm - proceeded to chastise him, taking the spoon as punishment and giving it to John, telling him that he was a 'good boy' while simultaneously threatening Sherlock - whether she pointed him out or not didn't matter, he knew very well who she meant - that if another five dozen size batch of dough wasn't sitting before her in the next thirty minutes, heads would roll.

Sherlock pouted as John playfully licked the dough off the spoon, quirking a daring brow in his direction.

When Mummy turned away, John brought the tip of the spoon to Sherlock's nose, wiping off some dough and then teasingly leaning in an licking it off before the detective could do anything about it.

Sherlock sputtered, flushed despite himself as John sauntered from the room, licking Sherlock's spoon obscenely.

John did not play fair.

* * *

When he and John went shopping that evening, Sherlock found the perfect gift for his John. He hadn't had the chance to buy his Christmas gift yet and as John didn't appreciate super expensive things - nor would he allow Sherlock to purchase him some fashionable suits - Sherlock was limited.

But he had managed to find it. After the wooing and then the case and getting shot in a foreign country, Sherlock had worried that he wouldn't be able to get his John anything, but it was all settled now.

He hoped John liked it.

Judging by the smile he was getting, John would like anything so long as it came from Sherlock.

The brunet couldn't help but beam at the prospect.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **24 December 2015, Thursday:**

John was sipping some hot cocoa by the fireplace, listening to Mummy prattle on about former Christmases where Sherlock did this or fell over that. The consulting detective was bundled up on the window seat in the front room, pouting because he didn't want John knowing about his very rare blunders during childhood.

Lestrade and Mycroft had gone out to some restaurant for their own time together at lunch. John liked small cafes and out of the way places and none of the eateries in the area around Sherlock's parent's abode would fit his tastes.

The brunet huffed, ignoring the painful twitch in his gut. He was supposed to take his medication but didn't feel like moving in order to do so.

His father appeared, holding a cup of cocoa and his pill wheel.

"It won't last forever," said the older gentleman. "My mother told your mother everything about my childhood as well. Your mother seemed to adore me even more afterwards, so I doubt your doctor is going to think badly of you."

That small bit of reassurance did lighten his mood considerably. John caring for Sherlock more than he already did? Count Sherlock in!

"That's _right_ , I can't help myself."

Sherlock was startled by the warm body that sat next to him on the seat. John was cuddling under the blanket with him, smiling warmly.

"I think it's adorable that your wore your bumblebee gown every night and carried your little, stuffed bee everywhere you went. My little beekeeper!"

Father left them to each other, Sherlock flushed to the tips of his ears and John giggling delightedly.

* * *

Lestrade had wrapped Mycroft in garland - Sherlock knew the difference now, thanks to John - and Mycroft was pouting as John placed a pre-made bow on his head, as if Mycroft was some sort of gift.

Sherlock merely saw Mycroft for what he was. A biscuit disposal and entertainment center.

He wiled away his time, chucking the gingersnaps at his brother. Both hated them and never ate them. It was fun to annoy Mycroft when he wasn't in the position to retaliate. And since Mummy was in the other room, getting more cocoa, he was in the clear.

Mycroft's glare promised retribution.

Sherlock welcomed it daringly.

* * *

Dinner that evening was done with the window wide open where the falling snow was visible and the light chill could keep them awake and fresh. Christmas classics filled the room as the six adults had Christmas dinner early.

As it was their last night in Cornwall, they made certain that gifts exchanged hands and well wishes were given early.

Mycroft - on behalf of the four men visiting - purchased a large amount of vintage wine for the elder Holmes'. In return, Mummy had knitted them each a jumper. John put his on immediately, beaming because of course he couldn't help but love jumpers.

Sherlock slipped the tickets he'd purchased for his parents' cruise, on their pillows. They'd be found by evening and the two wouldn't have a chance to coddle him with appreciation because he would be half way to London by then. His own genius astounded himself sometimes.

John conveniently pulled Sherlock under some mistletoe, kissing him breathless. The brunet calmed himself because he had only a few hours before he was allowed to touch. Touch everything that was John Watson.

He'd survived four day long experiments, he could handle this.

* * *

They decided to share the car on the way back. The next train was hours off and Sherlock wanted to get back home. He had an Advent Calendar to finish and a man to worship.

John slid into the car first and before Sherlock could follow, something cold and wet hit him in the back of the head. He stiffened and turned, eyes landing on Mycroft and his snow covered gloves that gave all the evidence he needed.

"You had it coming," sniffed the British Government, looking for all intents and purposes as if he _didn't_ just throw a snowball like a child.

John was laughing and Lestrade was pushing Sherlock into the car, preventing him from having his revenge.

But it would come. And it would be most sweet too.

Sherlock let John calm him down with soothing words and soft touches. The two huddled together, keeping warm as the ride began, mindful of the falling snow and the ice.

They'd be home for Christmas very soon.

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **-I'll update once a day until Christmas.**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics.**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Hello, people!**

 **I don't own Sherlock.**

 **I have no beta.**

 **ENJOY!**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**

* * *

 **25 December 2015, Friday:**

They returned to Baker Street much too early in the morning to do anything beyond sleeping.

Sherlock dragged John and their luggage upstairs and instead of going to their respective bedrooms, the two collapsed on the sofa. It was Christmas morning and there was nothing wrong with them sharing sleeping space now. Especially since both were tired - Sherlock was still injured after all and on medication - and wanted to cuddle up and sleep for a few hours.

Sherlock fell asleep after tangling his long and lanky limbs around John's own smaller ones.

* * *

Sherlock awoke to find John puttering about the flat, carrying a large tray of waffles covered in icing sugar with a side bowl filled with maple syrup.

"I would have been fine with some toast and cheese," said Sherlock though he was very happily tucking into his plate. Just because he would have been fine with it didn't mean he didn't like waffles. And John had made them with chocolate!

John smiled, "This is Christmas and you're supposed to indulge yourself today."

Speaking of Christmas and indulgences, Sherlock's entire body registered that easily enough. The Advent Calendar was finished today! Sherlock had made it the entire month until Christmas, being good.

And he'd won.

"Calm down, Sherlock. You haven't finished your breakfast and we have gifts to open. Once everything is out of the way and calm, then you can glory in your victory."

Fine.

He could wait a little more.

Especially since he wanted to give John his present.

"Your gift is in my coat pocket," said Sherlock, taking another wonderful bite of waffle.

John smiled and retrieved said gift which had been wrapped by the store owner as a free service.

It was small. Small enough to fit in a coat pocket, but Sherlock was sure that John would love it. Sherlock had been the one to ruin the last one John had and he'd remembered how sad John had been over it. So he replaced it.

John opened it carefully, smiling fondly when he saw it.

John had a gold pocket watch from his grandfather and Sherlock had dropped it. The mechanism broke on the inside and no matter where both had gone, they couldn't find a place that could repair it. Sherlock hadn't given up of course, but this one would sate John until they could repair the other.

It too was gold, though it did not have an intricate design on the face like John's first one did. Still, John seemed to love it, so Sherlock was able to breathe easier.

"You remembered."

"I remember everything you say," Sherlock pouted, pointing to his head. "There's a whole wing dedicated to you and every time I zone out, I still hear everything you say and file it away for later when I can review it all."

"You great git!"

John leaned in a kissed him, sugar, waffles and all.

"I'm going to go and get your gift."

John scampered off for his bedroom, snickering for some reason not yet known to Sherlock.

Sherlock knew John had a gift, he just decided to not snoop this time. He was being a good boy and he wanted John's surprise the be exactly what it was. A surprise.

A low whistle sounded, making the detective turn expectantly, only to see John leaning against the door of the kitchen, wearing only a pair of red pants. The same ones from the twelfth advent photo. The little white bow covering John's erection like a gift. And what a gift it was.

The blond smirked, "Merry Christmas."

Sherlock lunged, though mindful of his injury. He covered John's body with his own, backing them into the kitchen and down the hall, into Sherlock's bedroom. He didn't even need to see the last three photos because this was _so_ much better.

He was finally seeing John in person!

Sherlock carefully lowering the much more muscular man onto the sheets, enjoying the way John looked in the light streaming in from the window.

His body was a little softer, though not by much, and there was an elaborate scar on his shoulder, but other than that, it was the same John.

John laid pliant underneath his exploring hands. Sherlock's intent to map out every firm muscle very clear and John was letting him take his fill!

Ridges and grooves and all the different little indentations he could find. His hands wrapped greedily around John's biceps, which flexed tauntingly for him. His tongue laved John's collarbone, tasting light sweat and some soap. John had showered in preparation for this.

Sherlock shivered delightfully. The thought of John preparing himself for Sherlock was arousing… though...

"John, I feel that I should inform you, that I prefer to receive."

There was a moment of silence with Sherlock's breath puffing against John's scar.

" _Oh_."

John's voice was rough from arousal.

"I can deal with that easily enough."

Thanking the heavens, Sherlock continued his oral exploration of John's pectorals.

"So long as you let me ride you later, as a treat."

John leaned up to purr, " _I prefer riding_."

The thought of John dirty-talking had never passed through his mind before, but now it was all Sherlock could focus on. John wanted to throw Sherlock down and take Sherlock into his body and ride him. It was still a form of dominance, even if John was receiving. But the mental image was too sexy to resist.

Sherlock nodded, unable to articulate anything beyond a small whimper.

Sherlock had never liked taking charge during the physical actions of sex. He liked to be molded and stretched. Liked the feeling of someone else taking control for once, leading him into newer sensations. John would still be in charge like this, but Sherlock would get to experience what it was like to be completely inside his John.

He rolled John over, as he slowly continued to map out his flesh.

A peek of something dark from under the red pants, intrigued him. He pulled them down slowly, but only over the firm globes of John's arse. He still intended to pull them down from the front… with only his teeth.

There was a tattoo on John's rump.

The right cheek had been sacrificed for the endeavor and on it was a large depiction of a heart - a real one, none of those false little decorative ones - and in it was a silhouette of Sherlock. It was a profile, making it easy to see Sherlock's deerstalker, and coat collar. But the detail to the outline of his lips and his nose were definitely Sherlock.

"When?" he croaked, enjoying the view of himself and how it would always be on John's arse. Ownership.

"A few months ago. I'd been deliberating on when to try starting a romantic relationship with you. You beat me to it," laughs John.

Sherlock massaged the warm skin, enjoying how they tightened admirably under his touch.

Skillfully, he rolled John over once more, coming mouth to bow, with John's pants.

John was still perfectly trimmed, allowing Sherlock to grip the top of the elastic with his teeth without a struggle through pubic hair, and pulled down carefully, nearly getting slapped in the face by John's insistent cock.

There was a chuckle shared between them, before Sherlock began his inspection in great detail.

John's cock was the same color as his skin, retaining darker pigmentation from days in the army. The very tip which seemed to pulse on its own, was a near bloody shade of red.

Sherlock gave it a small squeeze, enjoying the moan it ripped from his John and the small bead of white that leaked from the slit. With the tip of his finger, he disrupted that little bead, dragging the liquid down over the glans, spreading it around to slick John up for the main course.

With no shame whatsoever, Sherlock buried his face into John's pelvic bone, inhaling deeply. He'd remember this for the rest of his life, mentally cataloging everything he could about John's body.

There was a stronger scent further down. A scent that was purely John Watson at its core.

Strong thighs tightened with anticipation and Sherlock was reminded of something he wanted to see.

He lifted himself over John once again and asked, "May I see your tongue?"

John's answering smirk was filthy and wanton, making Sherlock's body quiver and his rectum throb. It had been so long since he'd been so insistently aroused that even his body throbbed at the emptiness.

The pink appendage was exposed for his greedy gaze and Sherlock took it between his fingers. The hole wasn't particularly large, but after seeing how much it could lift, he knew that size didn't always matter. Just look at John. Yes, he was smaller in height and width, but his cock was a proud seven inches and half a centimeter. One could not judge on appearance alone _all the time_.

"How good are you with your tongue?" asked the brunet, eager to learn.

"Get on your back and I'll show you."

With an excited moan, Sherlock stripped his clothing off and arranged himself willingly and carefully. He was not allowed to lift his legs too high because of his the wound, but John had taken care of that road bump easily. He knelt between Sherlock's leg and lifted them carefully over his shoulders,

Sherlock's worry for John's injury made the doctor smile and pat him reassuringly. "It's fine. This is about you."

His legs were spread and John nipped playfully at his thighs. He sucked at the tip of Sherlock's foreskin and pulled on it a bit, making his detective twitch.

"Relax yourself for me."

Sherlock forced his body to calm. John would take care of it. John knew what he was doing.

The first point of contact was jarring, shocking Sherlock into full arousal. His own cock thrummed and he reached down to stroke himself slowly. Slow burn was always the best of orgasms.

The texture of John's tongue felt strange but no less wonderful than Sherlock assumed that it would. He could feel the hole itself as John explored Sherlock's insides. Fingers carefully breached him, reaching inside for something that was found and squeezed just the tiniest bit.

Sherlock's entire body arched into John's tongue and fingers, not expecting him to get the prostate on the first try. But John was a doctor after all and should know the human body well enough.

God, his mind suddenly ran through all manner of doctor/patient kinks they could explore.

John squeezed again, making the brunet moan once more.

"Please John, I want you to take me."

Never let it be said that Sherlock was shy in the bedroom. While he preferred someone else to lead, he was an extremely demanding little bottom. He knew what he wanted and while experiencing John's tongue up close and personal was one of them, he wanted John's cock inside his arse. Wanted to be violated. Owned.

When he was all better, John would be able to own his pasty bum with brutal claiming. But for now, Sherlock could take it slow… ish.

John shushed him, carefully rising up over the detective and smiling. "Lube?"

"I don't like it unless I make it. I hadn't thought to make any, so… just take me."

"You wanton git."

John was careful, bringing his thick cock to Sherlock's body and thrusting in ever so slowly. In and out, allowing Sherlock to stretch for him, taking his time, which Sherlock sorely wished he didn't have to do.

Damn those Neo-Nazis for practically cock blocking Sherlock! He was missing out on a hard fuck because of them!

Once fully seated, John brought his hand to Sherlock's all but forgotten erection, stroking it in time with his maddeningly slowly thrusts.

He was taken and taking. Receiving what John had to offer and tightening his anal muscles to attempt to keep John inside longer. John groaned, hissing out a string of filthy words that had Sherlock writhing and attempting to wring out even more.

John Watson, ever the respectful man who observed propriety, was telling Sherlock to take his cock. Taunting about never wanting to be empty. How he'd always remember John's venture inside of him.

John's hand twisted expertly and his hips thrust easily, almost as if there was no struggle against Sherlock's squeezing. It was hot and wet with sliding skin and friction that Sherlock adored.

"When I'm better," gasped Sherlock, "you will fuck me like your life depends on it."

"With _pleasure_ ," purred the doctor, adding one vicious thrust of the hips and twist of the hand, taking Sherlock apart slowly, worshipful, smiling in pride as Sherlock moaned for him.

* * *

John had waited patiently, holding his own end off in order to rouse Sherlock's sex back to life.

It was then, that John carefully mounted him and took Sherlock's burning arousal in one movement, sinking down, mindful of Sherlock's injury. He was slicked and ready.

"My turn!"

Sherlock had created a monster.

That, or the monster had finally come out to play.

It was certainly a merry Christmas.

And to think, Sherlock should be well by New Years. His eyes rolled back in pleasure at the thought of John owning him thoroughly then.

It was something to look forward to.

"You're mine, Sherlock," John said through gritted teeth. "No one else can have you."

"I don't want anyone else, John."

"Good, because your love is mine."

Feeling possessive and emboldened over John's claims to him, Sherlock placed his hands on John's rising and falling hips and aided him, lifting him and then slamming him down. John screamed in surprise.

"If I am yours, then you are mine."

"Oh, God _yes_!"

"Say it, John."

"I'm yours!"

On his descent, Sherlock thrust up just that once, bringing both of them to completion, John's seed covering his chest in the most obvious claiming method imaginable. Sherlock returned it with everything he had, his own ejaculate bathing John's center.

John fell to the side, breathing heavily. "That… was the most… amazing thing… I have ever done."

Sherlock curled into his warmth, feeling content and sexually exhausted.

"I concur."

"How can you be… so put together?"

Sherlock smirked, "Well John, when you can own me thoroughly, you'll get to see what I'm like when out of breath."

"I look forward to it, you mad, beautiful git."

There were no declarations of love or adoration. They weren't needed. John knew him better than anyone and vice versa. They didn't need to announce it, because it was already obviously there.

Sherlock wrapped a long leg around John and pulled him in close for their small respite.

"I would like to have you on your side next," John murmured into his curls.

"Oh, God yes!"

 **END**

* * *

 **A/N: First is done!**

 **How was it? Let me know.**

 **Check out my other fics. I updated a bunch of fics. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!**

 **See ya! :D**

 **CHECK ME OUT ON TUMBLR. HELLY-WATERMELONSMELLINFELLON. I FOLLOW BACK.**


End file.
